


and you will find me, time after time

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Book 2: A Clash of Kings, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Fandom Loves Puerto Rico, Gen, Groundhog Day, M/M, Multi, Poor Theon, Robb Stark is a Gift, Suicide Attempt, Time Loop, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which Theon's given a chance to go back in time and fix his mistakes after taking Winterfell.It's not as easy as it looks like in the beginning.





	and you will find me, time after time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah1281](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah1281/gifts).



> SO, FOUR MONTHS LATER, I'm finally getting around to fulfilling the commission I got from the lovely giftee for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico action - the prompt was throbb + groundhog day time loop with acok canon. I DELIVERED. Sorry that it took me two months longer than I thought it would /o\ (and since I wanted robb to actually be in the fic for more than three seconds there's the surprise plot twist that allows him to be around longer ;) ). thanks for the bid and I hope you enjoy it! <33333
> 
> **Warnings** : at the beginning I played the trope fairly straight so if you've seen groundhog day you know what you're getting into but just in case, towards the middle of section one there's a few suicide attempts in order to try and get out of the loop, you'll probably notice when it's the time so if it's potentially a problem just scroll by.
> 
> Also: of course no one belongs to me (they're grrm's guys, REALLY or robb wouldn't be dead) and the title is from cindy lauper because I'm horrid eighties trash and IT ACTUALLY FIT DON'T JUDGE ME. I'll saunter back downwards now thank you *drops fic and runs*

 

The cup Luwin left him sits near the bed, untouched.

Theon’s first instinct had been throwing the content away - Luwin said it’d help him sleep, but Luwin is also a maester and Theon knows that even too well, same as he knows Luwin has no love lost for him at this point.

But then he hadn’t done it and left it sitting there, mostly because his hand had started shaking so hard that he couldn’t have even reached the window before spilling it all over himself and he’d rather not ruin the last clean nightwear he had. The rest is getting washed and he doesn’t want to sleep naked, not after -

He feels vomit rising up his throat as he thinks about Robb and Grey Wind bleeding all over the floor and the table and at all the other rotten dead he was dining with, but he keeps it down. The last thing he needs is maids to find out that he threw up in his chamber pot or worse, _outside_ it, because now _that_ would be the ending of any shred of respect his men have left for him, most probably.

Fuck.

He needs to sleep if he wants to keep on holding this castle and figure out a way to save his hide. But - his dreams have been getting _worse_ lately, a progressive escalation of horrors he’d rather even not think about, and after last night’s -

He keeps down bile along with the urge to throw up all over again.

Fuck.

_Fuck_ , he’ll never manage to catch even an hour of sleep like this. And he can’t afford it.

He stares at the cup again.

Fine, Luwin is a maester and has no love lost for Theon, especially after - after the Stark kids

( _no they’re not_ )

but he also swore that he’d serve whoever was holding Winterfell and he sounded merely _sad_ when she gave him that wine, before. He reaches back for the cup and he smells it - there’s nothing strange about it, as far as he can see.

He’s considering whether he should just give it a try or not and that’s when he hears some noise coming from the nearby corner. He takes a look - it’s a small rat, he realizes. Gray, and looking well-fed, and most probably unburdened with any of Theon’s problems. Lucky beast, indeed.

_Maybe_ -

Well, it cannot hurt. Theon grabs the cup and lowers it to the ground, letting some of the liquid hit the floor and removing immediately his feet from the ground. The rat moves away from the corner, heads for the spot of red on the ground

( _the same red as all the blood that was flooding the main hall_ )

and as Theon tries really, _really_ hard to not break into a cold sweat, he licks it clean. Theon waits, wondering if it’ll fall dead to the ground, but it does not - he stands there for a while, then trots towards his corner, and disappears in the hallway.

Well, Theon supposes, if anything there wasn’t any _poison_ in there, or it’d have died.

_Ah, fuck it_ , he decides, and drinks the entire cup in one long drink - if it’s poisonous, at least he’ll be relieved of most of his worries _including_ trying to figure out how to keep this blasted castle, of seeing dead people in his dreams, dreaming of Robb’s _dead,_ disappointed face and worrying about how much his father never really cared about his well-being, after all.

He curls under the covers, closing his eyes.

For a moment, the one right between sleep and consciousness, he might think, _where did I go so horribly, terribly wrong?_

Then he closes his eyes and he succumbs to sleep, and he hopes with all his self that it’s dreamless.

 

**PART I**

 

**One**

 

“My lord?”

_What in the Seven Hells_?

That’s - that’s not Kyra, he thinks. The mattress he’s lying on is not the soft one he fell asleep on, and _why is the floor moving_?

“My lord?”

He opens his eyes and no, that’s definitely not Winterfell’s ceiling. He turns to his right and -

_The captain’s daughter_?

“What?” He blurts, not too nicely, but he doesn’t have time to be _nice_.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says, with that dumb, whiny tone.

“Well, I’m up now,” he replies brusquely, and immediately turns over and retrieves his clothes, dressing as quickly as he can manage, and he runs out of the cabin and on the deck.

Oh.

_Oh_.

They’re passing in front of Pyke, like on that day -

_The day when he got there_ , he realizes.

What the fuck.

_What the fuck just happened?_

For a moment, he wonders if Luwin’s wine was indeed laced with something, but he’s never heard of dreamwine this strong or that might create such illusions - it makes no sense. He pinches his arm, _hard_ , and it hurts like hell, and _he doesn’t wake up_.

“My lord?”

That’d be the captain, who’s looking at him as if he’s expecting him to fall below from the deck.

“Yes?” He snaps.

“You look - troubled,” the man says, and Theon shakes his head.

“Never mind. I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” the man says, and shrugs, leaving him leaning on the rails.

Right.

_Right_.

Whatever this is, Theon thinks, he can’t lose his wits over it. What did he think just before going to sleep? _Where did I go wrong?_

_Well_ , he supposes, _I definitely went wrong here_ , on that there’s no doubt. He reaches inside his jacket’s breast pocket - Robb’s message is there, whole and not burned like the first time around.

Right again.

Obviously, he has another chance at this. He has no idea how it happened or how he _might have gone back in time_ or what in the Seven Hells is even going on, but either he’s gone mad or he has to go ahead with it, and he’d rather think he’s not going _mad_ , so he’s going to go ahead with it.

So, he has to think straight. Which is not easy, given how he still feels sick just thinking about that dream he had, but he’ll try.

He’s back on the day he arrived in Pyke. He supposes it means that he can make things better by changing his actions on _this_ day. Fair enough.

It’s not even that hard to figure it out - he had it completely wrong when he introduced his father that topic, and when he dressed _too well_. That’s easy enough to put a remedy to, right?

_Right_?

He considers maybe just accepting his father’s offer and only taking the longship, rather than pushing for Robb’s cause. But -

He thinks about that dream. He thinks about Robb’s blood falling against the ground and about Grey Wind’s blood joining it (and that direwolf never ever saw _him_ as a threat, and what does that say about him and about what he did to the only person he has in his life who cared for him in the last ten years or so?). His stomach turns it on itself at the mere bloody thought of it, and he knows that his father still thinks of Asha as his heir, as much as he doesn’t like to admit it.

Fuck.

Maybe he just has to try and suggest it in a way that won’t make the old bastard angry, or maybe he will go along with his father’s plans and see how it goes. That - that sounds more logical. He resolves to proceed like this. It certainly cannot go worse than before, and if it means he’ll never get to take Winterfell, fine enough. He’s had enough of that for a lifetime.

He goes back downstairs and when the captain’s daughter asks him if he’ll come back to bed, he does and he fucks her again, and again, but he doesn’t put too much effort into it - he can’t focus on _her_ , and barely on his own pleasure anyway. Not when -

Not when _he’s gone back in time_.

Gods.

He will try to make the most of this chance, but he still would like to know what the hell is going on here.

——

When he leaves the ship and meets his uncle, he doesn’t try to brag too much - he _would_ , but he knows it wouldn’t go over well. He kneels when Aeron insists on blessing him with salt and follows him back to the castle. He doesn’t ask anything about the longships - now he _knows_ , he doesn’t need to make his uncle assume he’s some kind of dimwit like the first time it happened.

He expects it when the castle is dark and cold, and he expects to be given a room he doesn’t like, but when the servant says that his father will see him when he’s _rested_ , Theon says that he’s rested enough and he will see his father _now_ , as soon as he changes his clothes.

The servant shrugs and tells him to suit himself.

Theon quickly gets rid of his traveling clothes and is very careful to only done dark wool clothing without any sigil whatsoever. He doesn’t put on any of his finer garments and he doesn’t don those gloves that he ruined the first time around.

He takes a breath, puts Robb’s letter in his pocket but makes sure it’s well-hidden, and leaves the room.

——

“Father,” he says as he walks inside the solar - the door leading to it had been barred from the inside, same as before, but this time around his glove doesn’t break. He hopes he sounds demure enough. He hadn’t been rash, with the guard who opened it eventually, same as the last time around, too.

Lord Balon is sitting beside his brazier, wearing his sealskins robe, and he looked at him with the same unimpressed eyes as the previous time. Of course’s gaunt. But it’s not a surprise anymore, not this time. Still bone-hard, of course, but no more healthier than he had been when Theon was here the first time around.

If it ever happened, at this point.

“Nine years, is it?” His father tells him, same as before.

“Ten,” Theon answers, trying to keep his tone even.

“A boy they took,” Lord Balon replies. “What are you now?”

“A man,” Theon answers at last. “And I’m back now,” he says, itching to add, _and I’m here for my inheritance, too_ , but chooses not to. “And I was wondering, what about those longships I saw in the harbor?”

“What do you think longships are for?” his father laughs, and Theon can’t help thinking, this time around, _and what if I hadn’t come here yet when you launched them_?

“I suppose doing to war,” Theon adds. “One might ask himself on which side.”

His father snorts. “What do you think?”

_What do I know_ , Theon doesn’t ask him. “That you might want to take back your crown and you’re aiming for the North, maybe?”

He almost wants to laugh when his father suddenly stares at him as if he’s somehow impressed.

“I might,” comes as an answer. “I see that you understood it at once. Well, there is some hope left for you.”

“Some hope?”

“Nine years there, one might think you turned into a wolf,” Balon tells him, and -

Well, _shit_. If he tells him about Robb’s letter _now_ , it’s not going to work, is it?

“I haven’t,” he spits back, even if it’s telling that even if this time he hasn’t gotten mad or assumed that Theon has somehow betrayed his blood, he hasn’t asked _anything_ about what happened in the ten years he was away or how he’s doing or about _his_ plans or about - anything else one _might_ assume you would assume your long-gone heir.

“Then we’ll see if we can trust you. Tomorrow, you’ll meet your sister and we’ll discuss the war. I _will_ get back that crown if it kills me.”

_And it might as well,_ Theon thinks. “On your own?” Theon asks, trying to not sound too skeptical.

His father laughs. It’s not a pretty laugh. “Why would we need anyone else? Stark and Lannister can kill each other, and then whoever wins can kill Baratheon - whatever they do, we _will_ have the North, revenge for your brothers and what we lost years ago. Stark isn’t even in Winterfell, and I doubt a crippled eight-year old boy will be a problem. Are we done?”

Well, even if according to Theon they _weren’t_ , he thinks that it would change nothing.

“I suppose we are,” he spits, and leaves the room without saying nothing.

_Fuck_.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

——

He sits on the hard mattress in his cold, damp room, and looks at Robb’s letter in between his hands.

He stares at the fire in front of him.

He sighs and tears the message into some ten, twenty pieces, and throws it in the fire.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and gods, he _feels_ sorry, “I hope it goes better for you this round. I really do.”

He’ll take the ship and command it as well as he can, and he’ll swallow all the bitter bile he has to, if it means that his father sees his worth.

At least now he knows what he _shouldn’t_ do, when trying to gain his father’s favor. He dons night clothes, crawls under the covers and blows the only candle on his nightstand.

_Tomorrow is another day_ , he thinks, and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, he will do better than the first time.

 

**Two**

 

“My lord?”

_What -_

_What in the Seven bloody Hells_?

That’s - that’s not Kyra, the mattress he’s lying on is not the soft one he fell asleep on, the floor is moving, _same as yesterday morning_ , and -

“My lord?”

He opens his eyes and yes, that’s the boat’s ceiling, and yes, there’s t _he captain’s daughter on the other side of the bed_ , and -

Wasn’t that fucking _yesterday_?

“Yes?” He asks, way less angrily than he had yesterday.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” he dismisses her, and gets dressed, ignoring whatever else she says.

_What the fuck_ , he thinks for what’s not the last time in these couple of days as he walks out of the door and sees his father’s castle standing from the sea in front of him.

Well, _tomorrow is not another day_ , that’s for fucking sure. He leans on the rails, his head spinning. He - he went back _to the same day_ , there’s no question to be had, but what in the Seven Hells would that mean? All right, yesterday’s conversation with his father didn’t go as it should have -

Does that mean he gets another chance at it?

“My lord?”

That’d be the captain, who’s looking at him as if he’s expecting him to fall below from the deck, _all over again_.

“I’m all right,” he cuts the man off. “Really. Go back to worry about landing this ship to shore.”

“As my lord wishes,” the man says, not sounding _exactly_ convinced of it.

Theon stares at the sea in front of him, and tries to think.

He got a second chance. It _obviously_ didn’t go the way it was supposed to, he figures, or he wouldn’t be worrying about having a _third_ , right? So - so maybe he has to change approach. _How_ , though - yesterday he went in knowing what his father wanted to hear and he said everything he was supposed to say, and what he got in return was -

Right. Being more or less dismissed as soon as his father decided he could be trusted, but it also meant that the Iron Islands would go to war against the North, and now _that_ maybe is something that should not happen, rather than just him taking Winterfell?

Maybe - maybe the point of this exercise is making sure his father accepts Robb’s plan?

_Good luck to me_ , then, he almost says out loud - as if that’ll be easy. He has a feeling it might not be.

Maybe he has to show some more backbone.

Maybe that’s what he has to do.

He smiles to himself, feeling somewhat confident that he figured it out, and when he goes back in the cabin he’s a lot more relaxed than he was yesterday when the captain’s daughter sucks him off - and fine, he’s thinking about what he should say in order to make his point half of the time so she definitely needs to work on the technique, but never mind that. It’s passable enough, for being the first time.

——

He says nothing different when he meets his uncle - that went over well the first time at least. He accepts the kneeling and getting his clothes ruined with salt water, he tells the usual servant that he will see his father _now_ the moment he’s shown the cold and damp room, he dresses in the lackluster dark wool, keeps his old gloves and strides down to the lower floor.

“Father,” he says as he walks inside the solar, again, - the door leading to it had been barred from the inside, same as before, and _before_. He doesn’t bother sounding humble - it didn’t work first, it won’t now.

Lord Balon is, again, sitting beside his brazier, wearing his sealskins robe, and he looks at him with the same unimpressed eyes as the previous time. Of course’s gaunt. But it’s not a surprise anymore, definitely not this time. Still bone-hard, of course, but no more healthier than he had been when Theon was here the first and second time around.

If they ever happened, at this point.

“Nine years, is it?” His father tells him, same as before.

“Ten,” Theon answers, trying to keep his tone even.

“A boy they took,” Lord Balon replies. “What are you now?”

“A man, and I’m back now,” Theon replies all over again. “And I was wondering, what about those longships I saw in the harbor? Could they be for waging war on the North?”

“Maybe there is hope for you yet,” his father replies, sounding _positively_ surprised -

_Here it goes_.

“So I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in gaining Lannister gold through an alliance with Stark, would you?”

“ _What_?”

Theon shrugs and holds out the letter. “He had a proposition for you. It was _written in the raven_ we sent. He wants your fleet gaining you all the gold in Lannisport and the crown in return as long as he gets to be independent. Given that he has a fair number of forces and he might march on King’s Landing soon, maybe you’d want to take that into account. Or if you don’t, fine, but since he was willing to send me back here, I thought I would inform you regardless.”

“And here I was thinking that you _hadn’t_ turned into a wolf -” His father starts, crumpling the letter in his hand without having even read it.

_Of course_.

“And here I was thinking you _wouldn’t_ go to war against Robb Stark while I was still his hostage,” he spits, because now _that_ was something he had carefully avoided mentioning, yesterday.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“I saw the longships, Father. They have been armed a long time ago. What if Robb Stark hadn’t sent me back here?”

“If you’re such good friends, I’m sure he wouldn’t have killed you,” his father spits back, “and it seems to me like if you want to help out and do your duty, you can be your sister’s second. I’m not giving you half a longship with these premises. You’re excused, _Theon_.”

Theon is _this tempted_ to reply, _go to the Seven Hells, too_ , but doesn’t out of some self-preservation instinct, he figures, and limits himself to slamming the door as he leaves.

That evening, he goes to bed without having eaten any food and feeling cold all over and with a distinct feeling that whatever he was supposed to do, he _didn’t_ accomplish it.

He closes his eyes.

He falls asleep.

 

**Three**

 

“My lord?”

_Seems like I was right_ , Theon can’t help think as he opens his eyes and takes his surroundings in.

Of course, hat’s not Kyra next to him, and the mattress he’s lying on is not the soft one he fell asleep on, and as usual the floor is moving, _same as yesterday morning_ , and -

“My lord?”

There she is. The captain’s daughter is lying on the other side of the bed, and -

It’s still - yesterday, or _today_ , he supposes.

“Yes?” He asks, and now he doesn’t even sound angry anymore. He suspected he would wake up here, after all.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” he assures her. “I need some fresh air.”

He dresses, not paying her any more attention, and heads up on the deck.

There’s Pyke, and there’s his father’s castle, same as before. And if he’s not wrong -

“My lord?”

The captain, of course.

“Yes?”

“You look - troubled,” the captain says. _You don’t even want to know_ , he doesn’t say.

“Never mind. I’m fine,” he says, maybe a bit too strongly for being entirely convincing.

“If you say so,” the man says, and shrugs, leaving him leaning on the rails.

All over again.

Obviously, yesterday did _not_ work out in the best way, same as the day before, and he’s at it all over again. Thing is - _how_ in the fucking Seven Hells is he supposed to behave? Telling his father what he wanted to hear didn’t work, pointing out the obvious didn’t either, and his very first approach is out of the question. Thing is, how _else_ should he even do this? It’s plenty obvious that his father won’t appreciate the mere idea of allying with the son of the man who beat him and caused the death of his two precious sons, and he obviously wants to get Lannister gold without allying with Robb, even if as far as he knows he hadn’t aimed for Lannisport back - back _when_ he took Winterfell.

Screw it, he decides. If tomorrow he’ll wake up on this ship anyway, he might as well take a damned break from his father.

He goes back downstairs and before the captain’s daughter can ask him what’s wrong, he takes her once, twice, thrice, and by the time they’ve docked she’s _definitely_ well-fucked, if anything else.

When his uncle meets him and Theon notices the longships, though, he doesn’t exactly let that go.

“So if they’re for _going to war_ ,” Theon asks, “did he take into account that I might still have been a hostage when he sailed?”

His uncle _stares_ at him, obviously not having expected the question.

The fact that he doesn’t have one answer ready says everything there is to say.

“I think,” he says, “that I shall reach my father tomorrow.”

“ _Tomorrow_?”

Theon smirks, and he doesn’t think it reaches his eyes at all. “If he couldn’t wait for me to be back before attacking the man who could have taken my head for it, I _think_ he can wait another day while I attend to my business,” he replies, and disappears within the crowd before his uncle can drag him back and drag him back to his precious blessing with salt and to the castle.

Fuck them both, he decides as he runs into the first inn he finds.

——

He spends half of his money on ale and a few wenches - he usually doesn’t need a whore to satisfy his needs, but it’s not as if tomorrow he won’t have all his money back anyway, and finding ways to put more than two women into his bed without paying for them is complicated enough that he never tried it before.

But now - why the hell not? It won’t have happened tomorrow, anyway, he decides, and by the time he’s spent and the sheets are wet and there are three naked girls sharing that bed with him, he decides that it’s the best decision he’s taken in the last - _few months_ , he decides. He drinks from a wine flagon he got at the inn and offers some to the only one of them who’s still awake and falls asleep with his head in between her breasts, feeling very sorry that tomorrow morning he most likely won’t wake up in the same position.

But he has a feeling that tomorrow _won’t_ be another day.

 

**Four**

 

“My lord?”

_As usual._ That’s not Kyra, the mattress he’s lying on is not the soft one he fell asleep on when he was in Winterfell, the floor is moving, same as yesterday morning, and the day before and the day before _-_

“My lord?”

He opens his eyes and yes, that’s the boat’s ceiling, and yes, there she is on the other side of the bed. The captain’s daughter, in all her dullness and with her worried eyes.

“Yes?” He asks, following the script.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says. “Are you all right?”

That’s when he realizes that after all, he can do _the exact same things as yesterday_ and no one would know, _would they_?

He smirks, and she gasps at his sudden change of mood.

“Better than,” he says, and moves on top of her.

By the time he’s done, he’s come inside twice and he nudged her into giving him head another two times, and it was as adequate as the first time, and when he leaves the ship, he proceeds on telling his uncle off with the exact same reasoning as before, he disappears in between the crowd again and looks for a different inn.

After all, he thinks, smiling to himself, there must be _more_ than a couple brothels in this entire bloody town.

——

He asks around.

He finds out there are _five_ brothels in Pyke, and another couple just outside the city.

He smiles to himself _way_ wider, heads for the next one and slips the owner a few golden dragons. It’s not as if he won’t have them tomorrow, after all, and then he heads for the room he’s been told to reach.

He’s absolutely looking forward to finding out if he can handle _four_ girls inside his bed at once.

**Five**

“My lord?”

At this point, Theon could recite the script in his damned sleep, except that he’s not sleeping.

“My lord?”

He opens his eyes and yes, _again_ , that’s the boat’s ceiling, and _yes_ , there she is on the other side of the bed. The captain’s daughter, in all her dullness and with her worried eyes, and it’s a pity that she’s nothing in comparison to that gorgeous redhead from last night. Well, a night that did not happen, but never mind that.

“Yes?” He asks, not bothering to sound as if he cares.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says. “Are you all right?”

“Never better,” he smirks, and presses her against the mattress all over again.

——

Later, he slips his golden dragons to another brothel’s owner. This time around he picks just one girl, the one that he likes best and who looks bolder and with the strongest legs, and he has him ride her for the best part of the evening.

_I could get used to this_ , he thinks just before he falls asleep in between soaked sheets.

 

**Twelve**

 

“My lord?”

Shit. _Shit_. He’s kind of feeling the headache from last night even if in theory _last night didn’t happen_.

“My lord?”

A hand is on his shoulder, urging him to wake up.

He opens his eyes and yes, _again_ , that’s the boat’s ceiling, and _yes_ , there _she_ is on the other side of the bed. He rolls his eyes, barely looking at the damned captain’s daughter and her expressionless face as he gets out of bed.

“I know, I wouldn’t wake up, but I’m fine. Whatever. I need some air.”

He stumbles out of the cabin, tells her father that he’s fine before he can even ask, and looks down at the sea, taking in deep breaths.

It’s been fun, admittedly. He’s been through _all_ the brothels in Pyke, and it’s been _fun_ , but - he’d have never thought he’d think that after the fifth he’d get bored, but now that he’s thinking about possibly doing what he’s just done _forever_ \- because whatever it is that breaks this loop it certainly won’t be what he’s been doing up to this point - it’s… not such a tempting prospect. He had thought it would be fun and it _has_ been fun, but - now he’s picturing reliving it over and over and over again and…

If you had told him six months ago he’d think he _might_ get bored of endlessly having a woman or _four_ in his bed, he’d have laughed.

Now -

Now he has a feeling he can’t go on like this forever.

Well then. He breathes in, out, in, out, and decides that maybe it’s time he faces his father, _again_.

Maybe he should just - talk to him, _properly_ , putting all cards on the table from the beginning and hoping he listens. Theon suspects that it won’t work, after all his father has openly shown up to this point that he could have just fucked off and died in a ditch as far as he cared, or he wouldn’t have longships ready _before_ Theon even set foot here - it’s obvious it had taken a long time to arm them -, but maybe he’ll be swayed if Theon just tells him the truth without dancing around it. He doubts it, but a full week of non-stop wenching and drinking and spending all of his never-ending reserve of money is making him feel like he spent it drunk and has just now sobered up.

Robb’s letter, about which he hasn’t thought _once_ , is still inside his pocket. He doesn’t dare taking it out or looking at it, and he wishes he wasn’t feeling irrationally guilty about it, but then again, he _has_ reasons to feel guilty, hasn’t he?

When he goes back downstairs, he tells the captain’s daughter to get out and sleeps the rest of the way to Pyke.

He plays the usual role with his uncle, tells the servant that he will see his father this evening, dons the correct clothes and walks out of his room.

He goes through the usual hassle - barren door, guard not recognizing him, walking inside the room and finding his thin, bone-hard and unmovable parent sitting near the brazier.

“Father,” he says, and maybe if he only had one chance he would need to gather his guts, but then again, if it goes badly, he still has tomorrow, doesn’t he?, “I saw the longships.”

“And?”

“ _And_ , I could ask you why it is that you armed them before you even knew I was coming back, but I think I know the answer, and I suppose this is the part where you tell me that your true heir is my sister, isn’t it?”

“You were gone,” his father says, and sounds _almost_ defensive, “and _Ned Stark_ took you. Does it seem to you like I had to set my hopes on _you_ when Stark most likely tried to turn you into some kind of lap dog, and given that you have a letter with you I’m pretty sure you bloody damn well _are_?”

Theon takes a breath and slams the letter into his father’s hand. “That, he says, “is a plan that _I_ came up with, aiming for the greatest benefit for _us_. Robb Stark wants your fleet and the exchange for it would be our independence, Lannisport, and handsome rewards from what he would get by winning this war. If you’d rather fight the North in _their_ homeland and get kicked out if it the moment he came back, don’t even read it. If you want a _sure_ victory, consider it. Other than that, I did give it to you.”

His father sneers and, of course, throws the letter in the flames.

“Stark _really_ did make you his lapdog, didn’t he?”

At this point, Theon can feel hot rage burning inside his chest and he thinks, _why did I ever think I could win back your favor and why did I care so much for it anyway if you would never give me a chance?_

“Stark did _not,_ ” Theon protests. “He was merely a decent host to me. His son, though, at least let me come back here instead of keeping me there like he _should_ have, and I don’t know if he would have had my head if you had sailed those ships before I was back. Seems to me like I would be an idiot if I wasn’t championing _his_ cause, wouldn’t I?”

He expects the slap across his face.

He hadn’t expected it to be _that_ strong, but never mind that. He’s not surprised at all.

He spits blood on the ground and he’s not surprised that there are two guards outside his door, that evening.

Jape’s on them, Theon thinks as he goes to sleep. They won’t have that job for very long.

 

**Thirteen**

 

“My lord?”

Gods, by now that voice is grating on his nerves the moment he hears it. It’s the captain’s daughter, as usual, and he’s on the damned ship, as usual, and the bed is rocking under his back, as usual -

“My lord?”

“I’m fine,” he tells her, “you can leave.”

“But -”

“I said you can leave.”

She shrugs minutely and does, after taking back her clothes, and he remains there, lying on the bed and staring at the damned ceiling.

_Fuck._

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Well, if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that whatever he does, his father _won’t_ budge on that agreement. The only thing he hasn’t tried for now is downright pleading, and he doesn’t think _pleading_ will work with his father.

But if he won’t, then _how the hell does he break this - this bloody loop_? It’s been twelve times too many, as far as he’s concerned.

He shakes his head and dresses, walks out of the cabin - this time, the captain doesn’t even dare coming close - and he goes to the rails. The sea is green-blue and the sky is clear and he thinks, _can I even die?_

For a moment he thinks, _I’m not going to risk that,_ but - but then again, what the hell is the alternative? Being stuck in the same day _forever_? And _this_ day, out of every day, trying to figure out what the hell he should do to convince his father to not go to war against Robb?

Well, _fuck it_ , he thinks, and he jumps off the rail.

The water is _cold_ , and he hears people screaming, and he thinks the captain is telling someone to fetch him already or either Robb Stark or his father will have his head, and Theon, forcing himself to _not_ swim, thinks _maybe Robb will, my father would barely notice_.

He keeps his head underwater, fighting every instinct he has of diving back upside, just swimming farther down if he hears people getting too close -

He opens his mouth, letting cold, icy water fill it, and he’s suffocating and he needs air and what the hell has he done _what has he done whathashedone_ _-_

 

**Fourteen**

 

“My lord?”

_Gods_ , he thinks, slamming his eyes open and sitting up, taking in heavy breaths - he still feels like he’s choking and like he can’t fucking breathe -

“My lord?”

“Get _out_ ,” he blurts, and the tone most probably convinces her because she just gets to her feet and doesn’t even get dressed before running out, just grabbing her clothes and bringing them with.

Well, _fuck_ , apparently _dying_ isn’t going to stop this from happening.

Unless -

Gods, he can’t be thinking of trying _again_ , but -

He needs to be _sure_. Because if this doesn’t end even if he’s _dead_ -

He stares at the knife he brought with, lying on the only table in the small room. He made sure it was sharpened to its best before leaving Riverrun.

He stands up, reaches the desk, takes it.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t even be _considering_ it. But it didn’t work once, and if it doesn’t work _twice_ it’d be the confirmation that he’s fucking _stuck_ in this - in this spiral of _the same day over and over again_ , fuck -

Well, he decides, _here it goes_ , and anyway, wasn’t he basically headed for _this_ back in Winterfell, after all? Robb _would_ have taken his head, after all. And he’d have deserved it, given that he went and most likely ruined the war for him and took his damned castle to please his father when his father most likely couldn’t give a single fuck.

Here it fucking goes, then, he thinks, moving the tip of the knife over his heart.

He breathes.

Then he _pushes_.

He has time to think, _what the fuck have I done_ before everything goes blank, and -

 

**Fifteen**

 

“My lord?”

Oh.

_Oh_.

He opens his eyes, stares at the goddamned ceiling, and as the captain’s daughter keeps on shaking his shoulder and he knows, deep in his heart, that he’s _completely, absolutely_ fucked to the Seven Hells and back.

He doesn’t even have the strength to kick her out of the cabin, and so he turns on his side and pretends he’s gone back to sleep.

 

**Twenty**

 

“My lord?”

_My lord, my lord, my lord, my fucking lord_ , Theon thinks, and he wants to scream.

It’s been _twenty_ damned days. On day sixteen, he let himself fall from the tower the moment he was let into his room, and that _definitely_ didn’t fucking kill him, and at that point he stopped - no point in indulging into morbid thoughts he’d rather not fucking indulge in, especially since it seems like he’s coming back alive anyway. Drowning, stabbing and falling over a bunch of rocks from such a height have been more than enough and he’s tried the experience three times too many.

On day seventeen, he had talked to his father and just let him say whatever he wanted without counter-arguing, and the result was that of course he decided Theon had turned into a complete spineless traitor. On day eighteen, he had actually _told_ his father everything he had been thinking up to this moment, including a memorable _so you just decided you’d go to war without even asking yourself if I’d die for it,_ that was answered with _you were dead to me the moment Ned Stark took you away_ , and at that point Theon asked, _and whose fucking fault was that?_

He can still feel how _that_ backhand hurt, especially because his father used a hand with a ring on, and he could feel the bruise for the entire evening -

Of course, it was gone the next morning.

Yesterday, he didn’t even try - he told the servant he would see his father on the morrow, and merely went to sleep and woke up here.

“Yes,” he replies tiredly, sitting up on the bed and not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Are you all right? You wouldn’t wake up,” she says in a small, terrified voice, and for the first time since this entire farce started, he realizes that she’s actually _worried_.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at her. She looks halfway relieved and half terrified, and for a moment he thinks, _she really is caring that much_?

“I - I am,” he replies, way more nicely than he has up until now. “Was I asleep for that long?”

“I don’t know, but you just wouldn’t wake up at all and I was getting worried.”

_Well, she definitely cares more about how I’m feeling than my damned father did_ , he thinks, bitterly.

“I’m fine,” he reassures her. “Really, I am. How long until we dock?”

“Father says it should be today.”

_As if I don’t know_.

He looks at her again. The previous days, he just thought her dull, and she certainly wasn’t a great beauty, but she was - good enough for a distraction. Now he can’t help noticing that there’s a certain sweetness to her smile, and her eyes are really quite large and nice to look at, and her hair might be common brown but it’s clean, and she might not be a beauty but she’s not hideous, either, and certainly more than _passable_ , and she’s looking at him with real concern, and _why_ hasn’t he even thought about it twice when at this point she’s most probably the person he’s shared a bed more times with in his life, and at this rate he won’t ever share a bed with anyone again if he never gets out of this mess?

Hells, now he feels like shit also for _that_ , as if he didn’t have reason enough.

“Right,” he sighs. “I’m just tired, I guess. It’s been a long trip.” He _sounds_ tired. She nods, glancing at the mattress.

_I don’t even know her name_ , Theon realizes, and he feels even _worse_ for it.

Before this trip, he’d have wondered what was wrong with him.

Maybe there was something wrong with the fact that _he hadn’t even thought of asking her_ before.

“Are you called _something_ , by the way?” He suddenly asks. She looks back up at him - she seems… surprised?

“Rylene, my lord.”

_Not an ugly name_ , Theon decides. He thinks of all the times she’s sucked him off - that she can’t know of, as far as she’s concerned she’s never done that to another man until today - and of all the times they fucked and all the times he hadn’t even thought of focusing on how much _she_ was enjoying it - she _was,_ of course, it was obvious, but he hadn’t overtly cared to check in-depth, and maybe - maybe she deserved far better than that.

He shakes his head, moves on top of her, and he doesn’t ask her if anyone has ever put his mouth on her cunt, because of course no one has, if she was a maiden when they fucked first.

He leans down and does just that, and at least he can be sure that whatever’s going on, he still can make a woman come just with his tongue - small mercies, because that’s not what’s going to get him out of this, he fears.

After then, he brings her off with his fingers and he doesn’t pound into her when they _finally_ fuck and the boat passes the castle without him having actually seen it from the deck, but it’s fine.

He’s seen it twenty times at this point. He can do without.

——

She _does_ ask him, if he’ll take her as his salt wife. He tells her no, with less disdain than he had the first time.

“My father will hate me for it,” she says.

“Fathers are like that,” he replies, bitterly. “And don’t you have a mother, anyway?”

She shrugs. “She died a long time ago, my lord.”

_And mine is on Harlaw_ , he thinks, remembering that he didn’t go visit her when he _could_ , as in, _when he wasn’t stuck into a damned loop_ , and he’s barely even thought about her but of course he couldn’t ask, not when they would have thought him weak if he put _that_ as a priority, _or so he thought they would -_

Then again.

_Then again_ , if he does _now_ , he highly doubts that he won’t be back _here_ tomorrow.

Honestly, _fuck that_.

“Well, mine hasn’t,” he says under his breath. “Excuse me, I have to talk to your father.”

The man, of course, isn’t too happy when Theon asks him to sail on and go to Harlaw first and then they can sail back to Pyke tomorrow (it’s not as if it’ll ever happen, anyway), but then some of the gold Robb left him is enough to pay him off, and he sails for Harlaw instead.

Theon has no bloody idea of what he’s expecting from it - honestly, at this point not being scorned for having been sent away in the first place would be enough - and by the time they get there it’s mid-afternoon and of course no one has a clue that they’re actually _there_ , so no one is waiting for him at the dock.

Still, better that than the committee he had in Pyke, or better, that he _didn’t_ have in Pyke. He finds a horse and rides up to the castle - it takes less than it did on Pyke, for that matter, and not long later he finds himself staring into his uncle’s fairly baffled face.

“Since _when_ are you back in the islands?” He asks, gesturing for him to sit as he closes the solar’s door.

_How hilarious,_ Theon thinks, _my father didn’t even warn them that I was coming back._

“I left Seagard recently,” he says. “I’m - Robb Stark wants an alliance with my father and he trusted me with it.”

“I hope that alliance includes at least our Lord Balon getting a crown, because there’s no way he would accept it without. _If_ he does, anyway, and knowing him, I have a feeling he might not. That said, when did you send word to him that you would be back?”

“A moon ago, give or take,” Theon replies.

His uncle scowls, openly. “For - I should have _imagined_ ,” he mutters. “Damn the day - never mind that.”

“What’s wrong?” Theon asks.

“What’s wrong is that your mother has been asking _where have you gone_ since - since pretty much the day you left. Or better, not exactly in those terms, but these last few years? Let’s not even go into details about _that_. There’s a reason why she’s here and not on Pyke.”

_She’s been asking where was I gone_?

“Are you telling me -”

“That she’s _not_ all right, and your father knows it, and if I could afford it I’d take him not telling me that you were back as a personal slight, but sadly I cannot. Well, the North doesn’t seem to have treated you badly after all.”

“It - it could have been worse,” he says, cautiously.

“And Stark’s son trusted you with that mission?”

He shrugs. “I - I think he wasn’t supposed to let me leave,” Theon admits. “But he did. We are - in good relationships.”

“If you’re friends you _can_ say it,” his uncle replies, not sounding too impressed with him, and Theon almost gapes.

“I - er, I didn’t know how you might take it,” he admits.

“Your father certainly would not take it well, but I’m not your father and honestly, you have been there longer than you’ve been _here_. I would hope you would be friends with _someone_ in Winterfell, or your life would have been exceedingly sad.”

Theon would like to say something _sensed_ , but after trying to get his father to grasp that point over and over and failing all the time, he just - he has no idea of _what_ he should do or tell him.

“I - well, yes, we are. I suppose.”

“Nothing wrong with that, though you might not want to tell your father, either.”

“Could - could I see my mother?” He asks, hoping to change the subject _and_ to get to the bottom of this.

“Of course, just - I will go warn her first.”

“ _Warn_ her?”

“Believe me, there is the need. When she arrived here, she thought that you were _twelve._ Most days she still thinks you are twelve or so, others she’s better off. Hopefully this is a good one. Come,” his uncle says, and Theon immediately stands up and follows him to the Widow’s Tower - he supposes he should see his aunt, too, but she’s nowhere to be found right now - and meanwhile, he feels sick.

_She still thinks you are twelve or so._

And his father sent her away. Well, at least _someone_ missed him, but - to the point of - _losing her wits_?

He wants to cry, and so he shakes his head and tells himself he _won’t_.

They walk up a long flight of stairs, until they reach a door on the first floor.

“Right. You can wait outside. Give me a little time. Damn him, _he could have said_.” Theon doesn’t know if he was supposed to _hear_ that, but he did, and he has a feeling that the relationship between his father and his uncle hasn’t improved in the last ten years.

Or maybe it’s _plain obvious_ that it hasn’t.

He nods and watches his uncle disappear inside the room and close the door.

What in the Seven Hells does it mean that _she has to be warned_?

And - _she’s been asking for you since the day you’ve gone_.

At least _someone_ did, but then why - why would his father not even tell them? Did he care so little, or not at all?

Or did he assume that if he were to die either in his war or as Robb’s hostage, giving his mother any news was not a sound idea?

If he’s right about any of that, it’s not - it says nothing good, but he’s had enough proof that his father can’t care less, hasn’t he?

If he thinks of how he had always imagined he would be welcomed back -

_What a fool have I been_ , he thinks, and a moment later the door opens and his uncle walks out of it.

“You can go in,” he tells him. “It’s a good day, at least. And she wants to see you. Just - be aware that she’s not the woman you might remember,” he says, putting a hand on his shoulder before letting him walk in, and Theon barely has time to wonder what he means, because the woman standing behind the only table in the room and leaning against it in order to, is -

Oh, she’s his mother, of course she is, he’d remember her face anywhere, but her hair wasn’t this white, she wasn’t so thin and she didn’t look so frail, and the moment she gasps as she looks at him and stops leaning on the table she almost topples to the ground.

He runs before she can and holds her up, thinking _her arms were so much stronger the last time she held me before I left_ , and now the tables have turned, very much so - the bed is right next to them, so he helps her over to it, sitting next to her a moment later.

And then there’s a frail, wrinkled hand cupping his face.

“Theon,” she says, and that’s the voice she remembers, “is it really you?”

“It’s me,” he answers, trying to sound as - neutral as possible. He doesn’t want her to assume that he thinks something’s wrong with her, even if it’s obvious that it is, and _how could my father let her wilt like this?_ “It’s - it’s been a long time, isn’t it?”

“Too long,” she agrees. “You’re - oh. You’ve grown up so much,” she says, looking at him both _sadly_ and proudly, and he wants to run out of this room because it’s what he wanted, but _not like this_.

_And tomorrow it won’t have happened_ , he thinks, and it turns the entire moment sour.

“It - it would have been a problem if I _hadn’t_ , right?” He tries to joke, his hand finding her free one.

“At least Ned Stark fed you well, I suppose,” she says, wistfully. “I wondered where you were,” she goes on, and Theon doesn’t know if he can have this goddamned conversation.

“In Winterfell,” he replies, hating how _stupid_ that answer sounded. “I - I’m sorry I had to be.”

“You didn’t choose it,” she immediately replies, and as much as his uncle seemed worried about her reaction, it seems to Theon that it’s not - _weird_ or anything of the sort, even if she _does_ look like the shadow of the woman he remembers.

“And your father didn’t even say,” she whispers, _pained_ , and Theon wants to say, _no, he didn’t_.

“I - if I had known, I would have sent a raven here, too.”

“You didn’t?”

He shrugs minutely. “I never received letters personally from Pyke,” he admits.

“Of course you didn’t,” she says, sounding even more pained, and then _both_ her hands are on his face. “He didn’t let me know,” she says again, “but then again, he didn’t care,” she goes on, her tone getting lower, and lower, and - “But how did Ned Stark let you come back?”

Theon shakes his head, his hands curling around her tiny, bony wrists. Not as strong as he remembers them being. “Ned Stark died,” he says. “His - his son sent me. He wants an alliance.”

“His son,” she nods. “… An _alliance_?”

Theon shrugs, wondering, _does she even know?_

“The king is dead, and Ned Stark, too. We - he’s at war against the Lannisters. He sent me here to break a deal with Father.”

She looks at him with eyes that are somehow unfocused, but then suddenly get sharp in the span of a few moments. “Robb Stark sent you _here_ ,” she says, and now she sounds - she _kind of_ sounds like she used to. She’s still running her thumbs over his cheeks, but now her grip became slightly stronger. “And he wants an alliance with your father.”

“He - he does,” Theon tells her. “But - we sailed in front of Pyke, before. He had some longships ready, I could see, but I don’t know if it’s because he got my raven or -” He starts, lying so that at least it doesn’t seem like he’s come here to speak ill of his father, but then all of a sudden she starts laughing, _hard_ , so much that she has to move her hands away and wipe at his eyes, and Theon thinks it’s the saddest laugh he’s ever heard.

When she’s done, she raises her head again and stares at him for a long, hard moment. Her face is still covered in tears and she doesn’t stop him when he reaches out to wipe them.

“Theon, the first thing he told me after you left was that I should better start thinking that you were as good as _dead_ ,” she says. “And he spent months talking of how he would get his revenge on Stark and the King.” She laughs again. “If you think he will ally with Robb Stark, if there are longships in the harbor after both those two _died_ , you are a very sweet fool, but one nonetheless.”

_There it goes_ , he thinks. _If she’s convinced of it, too, then there is no way I can get out of this mess_.

“He never even told me you were coming back,” she sobs. “I am sorry to say, but I think your hope is very ill-reposed, as much as I wish I could not say it.”

For a moment, he wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her that then he’s stuck in this insufferable day over and over, though he supposes that he could go back to her every time at this point, but what would it be for, if she never remembers it?

But then -

Maybe, maybe he can get some advice without sounding like a proper madman.

“What - what would you do in my stead then?” He asks.

She looks at him again, her eyes still clear and sharp. “Tell me again what you were supposed to do.”

He shrugs. “I have - a letter. With our proposal for Father. It - it says that we would get Lannisport if he lends Robb his fleet, and then he would have his crown and the islands would be independent again. I was supposed to bring it to him and go back to Riverrun with the fleet. It - it was my idea. I was sure he would accept.”

“He won’t,” his mother tells him, and she sounds so sure, he feels like she might have just put a tombstone over the grave of his proposal. “He won’t. He would never ally with any son of Stark’s. But - but you weren’t supposed to leave. Robb Stark _sent you_.”

Theon figures he should just say it. “He - we’re friends,” he says. “I tried not to be, but -”

“Don’t. You don’t need to excuse yourself to _me_. If you were his father’s hostage, then you should be _his_ , and he sent you anyway.”

It’s not a question. He did, after all.

“Yes.”

“Is this Robb Stark a good friend to you?”

Theon swallows. “He has been,” he says. _Fine, he never thanked for saving his brother’s life_ , but other than that -

“Go back,” she tells him.

“… Wait, _what_?”

“If you mean to help him, this is no place for you. Your father won’t care. I know he won’t, or he _would_ have told me you were coming back. But this Robb Stark cared enough for you to - lose a hostage to send you back here, so he obviously cares more than _him_. And if he has longships ready to leave, then he cares not whether you live or die.” She’s openly sobbing on the last few words, but her words are sharp like steel all over again, when she looks up at him again. “I wish it wasn’t so,” she whispers, “but he got your brothers killed and now he cares not if he loses _you_ , too, and _I_ care to see you leaving. You owe him nothing and if he hadn’t decided to have _his crown_ your brothers would live and they wouldn’t have taken you from me.”

Oh.

_Oh._

He hadn’t taken into consideration actually _going back_ , but -

But if she’s right, and she might as well be, since until now he hasn’t obtained any result by asking his father to listen to reason, and it’s obvious he cares nothing for his well-being and he might as well admit it. Still -

“You would rather have me a traitor?” He asks, his voice shaking.

“You owe him nothing,” she replies, still steady. “And I would rather have you _living_. He will not care if you do or not. I hated Stark for taking you away from me, but I cannot fault his seed for that, and if he does care for you, maybe that’s where you should be. As much as it pains me, because then you will have to _leave_ , but -”

“I’m not leaving _now_ ,” he cuts her short, and maybe a few tears escape his eyes as he lets her hold him and her fingers card through his hair, and as he holds her back and tries to commit it to memory

(because it won’t have happened tomorrow)

he decides that maybe, _maybe_ she has a point or _more_.

His father doesn’t care. It’s plain as it can be. He won’t convince him. But if he goes back to Robb and tells him what he knows, maybe his father’s war is lost on principle, and he gets to undo what he did in Winterfell, and he gets to make up for those two poor children whose heads he dipped in tar -

( _except that he didn’t, not now_ )

and he tries to not let bile rise to his throat and ruin this.

He’ll come back.

He knows he’ll come back.

_If_ tomorrow he finds out that she was right, and if she wasn’t then -

Then he’ll come back anyway, because at least meeting his mother for the first time until he goes insane from it is a much better option than being belittled by his damned father until he loses his wits, and he has a feeling the latter would be quicker to come.

—

That evening, he goes to sleep in a much nicer and warmer room than the one he was given on Pyke. It’s not damp, and the bed is comfortable, and the sheets are dry, and for the first time in he doesn’t know how long, he doesn’t close his eyes with dread.

 

**Twenty-one**

 

“My lord?”

_Of course._

Of course he’s back on the ship. But this time -

“My lord?”

This time, he knows what he has to do. He thinks. He opens his eyes and sees the usual ceiling, and then turns towards Rylene, who’s still sitting there with a hand on his arm.

“Yes?” He asks, and patience if he sounds almost giddy now.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she says. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” he replies, smiling as he sits up. “Really. But thanks for asking,” he tells her, and then he gets off the bed, dons his clothes and tells her that he’ll be back in a few minutes, but she doesn’t have to be here if she doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t even wait - he ignores the castle passing in front of his eyes as he walks out on deck, then he finds the girl’s father.

“Captain?” He asks.

“Yes?”

“Turn back.”

“I - I beg your pardon?”

“I changed my mind. We need to go back to Riverrun.”

“But - but _why_?”

He reaches into his trousers, produces the usual purse of gold dragons and dumps half of it in the man’s hands.

“Because I said so,” he replies. “And I will make sure you get as much as that when you deliver me at Seagard.”

The man stares at him. “I’ll need a reimburse for -”

“Yes, _yes_ , whatever, you’ll get it. So, are we going back already?”

The captain shrugs, as if he’s giving up on understanding whatever’s going through his head, and takes the money. “As my lord wishes.” He stalks away and tells his second in command that they’re turning back, and Theon smiles to himself - _maybe_ , maybe this time he has it right.

He goes back downstairs, feeling like a weight has just been lifted off his shoulders, and finds the captain’s daughter - no, Rylene - still in his bed, even if she’s halfway dressed.

“What - what’s going on?” She asks.

“I might have changed my mind,” he says. “I’m going back. By the way, uh, what’s your name again?”

“Rylene, my lord,” she answers, and she’s surprised that he’d ask, of course, since he _hasn’t_ up until this point.

“Well,” he tells her, “if you don’t like it on this ship that much, you can come with. I’m sure Robb can use some help in Riverrun.”

“What? Me? But -”

“Can you clean or cook or _whatever_?”

“I can, but -”

“I have a feeling your father can’t use you anyway or you wouldn’t be _here_ now, would you?”

“He - he doesn’t, that’s true. But are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he says, and he doesn’t promise her anything more and he doesn’t tell her to take off her clothes, but she’s looking happy enough as she walks out of the cabin.

There’s - days, before he gets to land, true. But _hopefully_ , he’ll get to live them.

——

That night, he goes to bed hoping that it worked. He doesn’t pray very often and he barely even knows to _whom_ , but if as he falls asleep he thinks, _please let it work out_ , no one could fault now, could they?

——

The next day, he wakes up on his own. There’s no one in the bed next to him. He’s still on the ship and the mattress is still uncomfortable and the bed is still moving under him, but she’s not here and there’s no _my lord_ , and -

He swallows, puts on his clothes, gets out of the cabin.

Pyke is nowhere to be seen on the horizon line.

_I did it,_ he thinks, and if he breaks down weeping and the sailors notice, no one points it out to him. _I did it, I did it, I did it_ , he thinks, wiping at his eyes and grinning so hard it almost hurts.

_Robb, I’m coming back_ , he thinks, _and this time I’m making it count_.

 

**INTERLUDE**

 

“Your father wants to _go to war_?”

Theon nods, still holding in the urge to go ahead and throw his arms around Robb and apologize until he has no voice anymore.

“I saw the longships in the harbor. And - I asked my uncle. I - I figured there was no point in insisting, and he did tell me that my father was planning on making my sister heir. And you know they didn’t even reply when we sent them the first raven, did they?”

Robb nods, biting down at his lips, and Theon can’t help thinking that he’s too young for the dark bags that have appeared under his eyes since they called the banners.

“So - I would send some men back North if I were you. And I would make sure Winterfell knows.”

“Of - of course,” Robb nods. “I will write them right now. But - what about _you_?”

Theon shrugs. “I suppose I’m disowned. Or I will be soon. But - let’s be real, Robb, if he wanted to go to war, he must have had started the preparations long before he knew I would be coming back. If I hadn’t, he would have done it when I still was here. And - you know what you would have had to do.”

Robb’s lips stretch in a thin line, his eyes fixed on Theon’s, brimming with anger

“Theon, you know I would _never -_ ”

“Your men might have asked it of you, and you _know_ it. I just - I hope that -”

“ _Theon_. You just _betrayed your father_ and came back with that information, which would have been enough for your father to disown you anyway, never mind that he wouldn’t have cared if I had killed you or not. If _anyone_ dares question your loyalty to me, they will sorely regret it. Don’t, all right?”

He sounds so earnest, and a moment later he’s left his place behind his grandfather’s solar and he’s thrown his arms around Theon’s neck, and Theon wants to scream, _how could I betray you the first time around_ , but he can’t say it now, can he, and so he grabs at Robb’s shoulders and holds him close and he thinks, _I did this right_.

——

Robb _does_ make good on his promise - at the small council, the moment Roose Bolton tries to imply he might not be trustworthy (and wasn’t that _hilarious_ , given that… well, the first time around, he might have been right) Grey Wind growls loudly, and no one has a thing to complain. Lady Stark actually comes up to him and apologizes for having doubted that sending _him_ was a good idea, and he almost breaks into an hysterical laugh thinking about his own mother who sure as the Seven Hells doesn’t remember having met him again.

Will he ever get to see her another time, he wonders, and resolves to do it as soon as he can, _if_ he has the chance.

He arranges for Robb to find Rylene a job and he goes to bed feeling like he’s _finally_ getting something right for the first time in way, way too long.

——

The day after, Robb summons a council again and tells his bannermen that before they make a move, while his mother leaves to try and strike a deal with Renly, or Stannis, or _both_ , most preferably, should they set their differences aside, they need to discuss the situation with every available man, so he will send ravens to all the lords who are in the North _and_ wants here any man that they have at their disposal who can fight and is currently not accounted for.

Theon figures that it’s a sound decision, especially when Tywin Lannister is not making a move, either - they _do_ have his firstborn, after all - and when his father still hasn’t made his.

Still, he cannot help feeling like a fraud every time Robb smiles at him or thanks him for what he’s done or reminds someone else that he sacrificed his name and status for _their_ cause - _yes, I have now, because I know it’s a better choice, but I didn’t the first time, did I_?

Then again - no one knows about _that,_ right?

_And no one ever will_ , he decides, if he has any say in it.

Good thing that it’s not _overtly_ long from the Riverlands to the North - most of the people that should get here will arrive within a week or two at most, and hopefully Robb’s mother will have struck that alliance, with whoever she gets it. He asks Robb who is supposed to arrive.

He knows most people, and he doesn’t hear anything too strange in it.

“Then,” Robb adds, “Roose Bolton says his bastard son is supposed to arrive, too. Ramsay Snow, or so he says. He assured me he’d be useful and that he was putting men together at the Dreadfort, so maybe we _could_ use him against your father - Theon, are you all right?”

“Oh - yes,” Theon says, “of course. Sounds - sounds like a plan,” he nods, but instead he can’t help thinking that it does _not_ sound like a very good idea.

Hells, when See Rodrik brought that Reek to Winterfell it was because Snow had been killed in the aftermath of committing war crimes, and honest, what did he even expect, following the advice of some servant who had been arrested for _raping a corpse_?

Never mind. It hasn’t happened yet. He _cannot_ tell Robb that, because now that would sound suspicious, wouldn’t it? Maybe he can try to advise him to _not_ give the bastard too much leeway when he’s here while hoping that Robb doesn’t assume that every Snow in this realm is like Jon, because as much as Theon never liked _that_ sullen bastard, he sure as the Seven Hells would have never forced a woman to die of starvation after having eaten her own damned fingers.

It sounds - it sounds like a plan.

Gods, he had hoped things would be _easier_ if he came back, but he has a feeling they won’t be.

He has a feeling they won’t be, _at all_.

 

**PART II**

 

**One**

 

Theon opens his eyes in time to witness the early sunrise on the Trident - admittedly, he thinks as he gets out of bed and tries to rub sleep from his eyes, it’s quite beautiful. The warm, pink light of the sun is bathing the entire river and the sky is three different shades of violet as it turns blue, and he thinks, _have I ever seen such a sunrise on Pyke_?

Who knows. He certainly hasn’t paid attention, during his last trip.

He shakes his head, goes to the privy - the fact that Robb gave him a room with one says all about how he wants his bannermen to know that he’s not going anywhere - and after he washes his face and dresses, he glances out of the window before heading downstairs. He can already see people showing up and trickling inside the castle - right. The first council that’s supposed to deal with the current situation is today and everyone was supposed to be here before midday, so the last to arrive are coming in.

Including the infamous Ramsay Snow, who hasn’t shown up until this point. Theon would like to know why he’s so uneasy about the man, not counting the obvious reasons - well, maybe it’s because of the _obvious reasons_.

He goes downstairs. He finds Robb, who looks even more tired than usual but greets him with a lovely smile on his face and a relieved stare, and if he’s relieved that _Theon_ is here, well -

Gods.

_What have I done_ , he thinks all over again, except that he _hasn’t_ done it.

And he never will, if he can help it.

He places himself at Robb’s right and says nothing if there’s no need to, while he greets all the last bannermen to trickle in.

That is, until Ramsay Snow finally arrives - he’s the last, but he has brought a fair amount of men, and he is on time. He only sees a pink cloak as the man walks inside Riverrun, and he’s thoroughly ignored when Bolton’s bastard walks inside the hall and goes to kneel in front of Robb, which is most probably a good thing, because -

Because then Snow would have noticed his horrified expression as he recognized him.

Theon’s blood turns as cold as the Northern winter as he lays eyes on Snow, standing up and thanking Robb for taking him into his service and swearing that he will serve him right, smiling with lips so thick they look like damned worms, lips that Theon _can remember entirely_ , because they whispered at him to kill those miller’s boys in that time that never happened.

_That’s Reek,_ he thinks, feeling his insides turn into ice. _That’s bloody Reek_ , except that -

What did _Reek_ say, in his timeline? That Snow was slain by Ser Rodrik?

_Evidently not_ , Theon thinks, but - Reek was supposed to be Snow’s servant, so what -

_So what if they switched clothing_?

The more Theon thinks of it, the more it seems sensed -

“I will serve you gladly, Your Grace,” Snow says, smiling -

_Unchain me and I will serve you_ , hadn’t he told Theon the exact same thing with _the exact same smile_?

“I will be glad to have you,” Robb replies, courteous as ever.

_No,_ Theon thinks, _no, you shouldn’t be_.

——

The council passes in a blur - he can barely pay attention to anything Robb says or the others object, because he spends the time just _staring_ at fucking Ramsay Snow and at his uneasy grin and at his pink cloak and his greasy hair, and at how he never suggests anything except supporting any plan that would allow him to do exactly what he had _before_ just sanctioned by the crown, and at _how he suggested me to kill those two children and how he said he’d come back with two hundred men and how he was playing a part, and how he was smiling as he killed those two children -_

“Theon?” Robb whispers in a dead moment.

“What?”

“Are you all right? You were staring at nothing.”

“Uh, I’m - sorry, I didn’t sleep greatly tonight. It’s nothing. Really.”

He forces himself to pay attention, _after_.

Enough to feel his blood go cold all over again as Roose Bolton says that he would be utmost glad to leave his son command of his men to go back in the North and _deal with the ironborn situation_ , too bad that everyone else seems to agree regardless of a few people not being too convinced at Snow’s famed methods.

Robb, thankfully, takes his time to decide, but then Theon hears Snow saying that _he heard Robb trusts people against all odds and he would be delighted should he choose to trust him_ , and he can hear what’s _not_ being said - if Robb trusts _Theon_ , as in, the son of someone who’s _going to war against him_ , what reason would he have to _not_ trust _him_?

Damn his father to the Seven Hells and back, Theon thinks.

_Damn him_.

——

“What do you think?” Robb asks him later that night, when they’re alone in Hoster Tully’s former solar, now his, for the time being.

“About what?”

“About putting Snow in - well, not _complete_ charge, but giving him that much leeway. I can see that most people don’t like it but the ones who do say he’s _effective_ and so on, but I’m not sure.”

“He doesn’t… feel trustworthy to me,” Theon shrugs. “Have you tried seeing what Grey Wind does if walking near him?”

“No,” Robb sighs, “but maybe he should be there for the next council. Well, I suppose we should all sleep on it, shouldn’t we?”

“That - seems fair,” Theon replies. “Have a good night then.”

“Same to you,” Robb says. “And - I’m glad you’re here.”

“I - I am, too,” Theon tells him, forcing himself to not say _more_ , and then runs back to his room.

Right.

_Right_.

He’s going to spend tomorrow keeping his eyes open and trying to figure out _what_ is Snow’s ultimate goal, and his father’s as well, because Theon doubts that he wouldn’t know out of anyone. He goes to bed fully intending to honor that vow, as much as he can, and lets sleep claim him.

 

**Two**

 

Theon opens his eyes in time to witness the early sunrise on the Trident, and -

_Wait a fucking moment_ , he thinks as he gets out of bed and tries to rub sleep from his eyes.

The sunset is _quite beautiful_.

It’s also _the same as yesterday_ , and -

He looks down.

Some Mormont men are going into Riverrun now.

No.

_No_ , he thinks, feeling bile rise in his throat. It can’t have happened. It can’t have happened _again_.

He dresses, slowly, trying to keep his mind clear and leaving the room at once. He finds a maid and has her tell him what day it is, even if she looks at him as if he’s lost his mind.

He’s not surprised, even if he had hoped to be, to hear that it’s - it’s _yesterday_.

He thanks her, then goes back inside his room, slamming the door closed.

_Fuck, fuck,_ fuck.

——

He sits down on the bed.

He needs to put some order into this mess, or he’s going to go insane.

The facts are that he _did_ break that loop, but whatever god’s behind it, they’re not done with _him_ , apparently, because now he’s back into _another_ one, and that’s the horrible news.

That said, the good news is that if he broke the loop the first time, he can do it a second time, and if it’s happening, then there has to be a goddamned reason.

Now, the first time, he obviously had to come back and warn Robb. He had enough signs from fate and the gods and whatever that siding with his father or trying to was _not_ the right course of action, and it did pay off, because he _did_ get here instead of going back to the beginning, so he obviously needs to make sure things go - _the right way_ here, too, and good luck to him figuring out what in the seven hells it means.

He needs to _think_.

He’s here.

Snow is here.

Snow was also in Winterfell, and he lied to him about being Reek, and thing is, _maybe_ it would have made sense since he technically was the enemy, but point is: he lied to Ser Rodrik, who has supposedly killed him for committing fucking war crimes _in the North_ and while his father was directly under Robb’s command.

Never mind that by advising Theon to kill the miller’s children, he had automatically hurt Robb’s cause, because it _would_ have been hurt, if he thought his brothers were dead, and if he _really_ was on Robb’s side - or the North’s - all along, _why_ would he have done it? To mess with his head, sure, but - it wouldn’t have been worth it, he thinks.

No. It doesn’t add up.

And he needs to find out _what_ is the problem exactly. And if he’s stuck in another loop again -

Wait.

After all, if he _doesn’t_ get it right, he will just wake up this same morning remembering everything, won’t he? Which means -

_If I went to have a private talk with Snow just to figure things out, tomorrow morning no one would be any wiser about it, except for myself_.

He doesn’t particularly want to do it, but -

But it’s obvious that Snow is _one_ of the issues at hand, here, if there is more than one, and he doesn’t want to relieve the same day over and over again for a second time.

Fine.

Going to the Bolton camp it is, then.

——

He dons a nondescript cloak and doesn’t wear any of his usual garment, merely trying to pass through the Bolton soldiers and see if he can hear something that might be of help, but he hears nothing except the usual camp talk except for maybe people wondering if the plans as far as Lady Hornwood is concerned are changed.

So _that_ is still in the plans, except that they couldn’t be put into motion. Sounds proper, he thinks bitterly, and keeps on walking.

That is, until he hears someone yelling at some _Reek_ to move the hell away, and a moment later a horrid stench fills Theon’s nostrils, and he turns to see a man who’s wearing the exact same clothing _Ramsay Bolton_ had while in Theon’s service but has not the same face at all.

Reek, the real one, Theon supposes, glares at the man and retreats back into a tent. He can still smell him, and he hasn’t even come close to him.

Well, if anything he found out for sure that Snow _had_ swapped his clothes for Reek’s, back in Winterfell. And he was most definitely playing _both_ him and Rodrik Cassel, whichever was the eventual target.

He _doesn’t_ immediately go back to Robb’s council and waits for the remaining bannermen to reach the room, later, and puts himself outside the door. When he sees Snow approaching, he clears his throat and greets him, same as he greeted everyone else.

“Ramsay Snow, isn’t it?” He asks, trying to keep his voice even.

“Oh. _Lord_ Theon Greyjoy, isn’t it?”

Theon hears the scorn on the first title, but of course a bastard cannot call him anything but _that_.

_You weren’t like this when you asked me to unchain you, were you_?

“We have heard quite a lot about your feats,” he goes on. “I trust you shall be an asset to the army?”

“On _that_ ,” the man says, “you can absolutely trust me, _my lord_.”

He smiles so venomously, Theon thinks, but he’s not stupid. Not by any means. He’s saying exactly what he should say, and after all, he certainly was smart enough to play on _his_ weaknesses when they both were in Winterfell.

“I am sure the king will be glad to let you have a chance to prove it,” he says, and then moves inside the room, feeling like he needs to take a long, hot bath just for having talked to the man.

The council goes more or less as it had the day before, but he can see Snow sending looks at him every other moment, and he doesn’t look any of them.

For a moment he feels as if somehow the man _knows_ what transpired in Winterfell, but no, that’s his damned paranoia, because _it never happened_ , and surely it never will, not _now_.

——

He has the same conversation with Robb that evening. He goes to bed knowing fully what will happen on the morrow.

He hates that he feels like there’s _something_ escaping his grasp, that he has some elements to solving this goddamned riddle but not all of them, and he hates that he knows he will wake up on the same day tomorrow, but maybe in a few more days he _will_ get there.

He hopes so.

He really does.

 

**Three**

 

He wakes up to that lovely sunrise, all over again.

This time, he doesn’t even pretend to be someone he’s not - he dons his usual clothes, finds a purse of golden dragons, takes on the side the first Bolton soldier he sees who looks starved enough for money and not too excited to be fighting a war, and he gives him five gold dragons for everything he knows about Snow’s plans for Lady Hornwood.

Apparently, they were just about to conquer those lands as Ramsay had heard of Lord Hornwood’s demise, and of his son’s, in the Greek Fork, and they actually had been grouped together for _that_ , not for coming to Riverrun - that was an unplanned change happened on Roose Bolton’s orders.

_Surely Robb would have never approved of Ramsay just waltzing inside Lady Hornwood’s keep and forcing her to marry him,_ Theon muses as the man talks. Well, if anything he knows for sure that Snow has a plan and that plan doesn’t necessarily match Robb’s interests, nor the North’s, but - it doesn’t even go _against_ them, technically.

The council goes the exact same as the first two times, except that when the time arrives for Snow to say his piece, Theon clears his throat.

“I imagine that if you serve His Grace as well as you say, you might wish for a reward in return?”

Snow smiles. Theon _hates_ that look.

“Well,” the man says, “I should have no sweeter reward than a legitimization, but I intend to earn it thoroughly.”

Theon immediately looks at Roose Bolton’s reaction, but the man’s face is still as stone.

“I suppose Lord Bolton agrees,” he says.

“That’s up to His Grace to decide,” Bolton merely replies, and Theon doesn’t fail to notice that Snow scowls at that for a moment, openly.

If anything, if there was no bad blood in between Jon Snow and Ned Stark, there’s plenty in between those two, Theon muses.

He still doesn’t like _any_ of this and he’s not so sure he figured it out, but still -

_Still_ -

Never mind. He has potentially _the rest of eternity_ to figure this out, he thinks, and he wants to cry at the mere prospect.

——

“Theon?” Robb asks him later, in his grandfather’s solar.

“Yes?”

“Was there a reason why you were asking such specific questions of Lord Bolton and his bastard?”

_Good question_.

“I - I don’t - let’s just say, there’s _something_ off about the two of them,” Theon admits. “I don’t know what. But - there is. I’m sorry if -”

“Theon, you can ask whatever you want. I _trust_ you, and I think I made it clear.”

_You did_ , Theon thinks, feeling tears come up to his eyes. _You did_. _And I deserve none of it_. “Thank you,” he says. “I - if I figure it out, I will let you know.”

“Don’t apologize for it. Something is off, I agree, but who even knows what. And lately _everything_ feels off.”

_Indeed_ , Theon says. _And I wish I could tell you how much_.

He goes to bed with the full knowledge that tomorrow will _not_ be another day.

 

**Four**

 

Talking to Roose Bolton does not work - the man says nothing and merely looks not amused when Theon reminds him that he _did_ lose the Green Fork. He does look closed off as a fucking stone statue, and there won’t be a thing he’ll get out of the man however much he tries. Snow still hopes for his legitimization, Robb still looks entirely too tired and like he deserves to sleep for the next six months, no news from Catelyn Stark arrives, of course, but it hasn’t the previous times so it wouldn’t now, and Theon is at the end of his wits here.

He needs to figure this out.

Whatever Bolton and his bastard have in plans, it could go against Robb as much as it couldn’t. But if it’s going _against_ Robb -

Wait a moment.

He forgets about the current situation and thinks about the one he was trying to forget and that he has hopefully undone. If Snow was pretending to help him _and_ also if he was _not_ on Ser Rodrik’s side, he surely was _not_ going against his father’s wishes, either.

But if his father agreed to whatever it was that Snow was trying to do, and if he hadn’t told him to _not_ take Lady Hornwood’s castle… then they have to be on the same side, as much as they hate each other. Where was Bolton again, when Theon took Winterfell? In Harrenhaal. Definitely in Harrenhaal, which is close enough to King’s Landing, isn’t -

The _possible_ revelation comes upon him in a moment.

_Could it be that they were talking to Lannister back when I took Winterfell the first time around?_

He thinks about that dream he had, the one where Robb was bleeding from a thousand wounds along with Grey Wind and he was in a _hall_ , not in a field.

What if it was -

Theon highly doubts that the gods would send _him_ prophetic dreams, but then again, _hasn’t he been reviving the same day over and over_ since this entire blasted story began?

Anyway, that’s all good and proper, but he cannot certainly find out if Lannister’s talking to either of them _now_ , because who would even tell him if -

_Wait a moment_.

_Who would even_.

Maybe _someone_ could.

——

He runs up to Robb’s solar and throws the door open without knocking - Robb’s working on some raven and looks up at him tiredly as he steps in.

“Theon, what -”

“Robb, uh, I need permission to see Jaime Lannister.”

“… Lannister?” Robb asks. “Of course you can, but why?”

“I - I need to ask him a few things.”

“Well, be my guest,” Robb says, “but he’s told us nothing yet and I doubt that he will. Also, you know he’s in the dungeons because he tried to escape, don’t you?”

“I do,” Theon says. “Well then, I’ll see him in the dungeons.”

Before, though, he goes to the kitchens and finds a wine flagon, then he heads downstairs and pays the turnkey so that he’s not there to hear their conversation.

——

Lannister, of course, isn’t too happy to see him, and doesn’t look too convinced at Theon’s offer.

“What,” he says, “you’re suddenly showing up with _wine_ and I’m not supposed to think there’s a catch somewhere?”

“Well,” Theon says, “I might be wanting to ask you a few questions and I thought that flagon might loosen your tongue, Kingslayer, but maybe if this conversation gives me the answers I seek, I might try to convince Robb to give you back your old lodgings.”

“How tempting,” Lannister says, “and I should go against _my_ side for that? How weak do you think I am, Greyjoy? Please. Also, who assures me that your wine isn’t poisoned?”

Theon shrugs and takes a hearty drink from the flagon, then swallows it. Nothing happens for a long time, and then he throws it at the prisoner - Lannister _does_ catch it, chained as he is.

“I’m not dead now, am I?”

“Fine enough,” Lannister says. “Well, I’m not going to answer anything you ask of me, but since you were so courteous to provide the wine, your loss.”

He takes a drag and Theon lets him do that in peace.

“I was merely wondering,” he says, “why hasn’t anyone still tried to treat for you properly.”

“Excuse me?”

Theon shrugs. “Yes, yes, your brother sent a few people trying to free you and that didn’t work out, but I am way more surprised that there isn’t an official request for an hostage exchange to have you back.”

“As if,” Lannister shrugs. “I know my brother will come up with something. Don’t you worry about _that_.”

He smirks, and Theon can’t help noticing that he said _my brother_ , not my father.

“And won’t your _sister_?”

“I’m fairly sure that if Tyrion is Hand of the King, she won’t oppose any scheme he might have to free me, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Not Tywin Lannister? I would suppose he might put some effort in trying to free his _heir_.”

“I’m not his heir,” Lannister laughs, “same as you’re not your father’s, and I hear enough from the turnkeys to know that I’m using you much courtesy, calling you _lord_.”

Theon does nothing to counteract that blow - let Lannister talk. He needs him to, if he wants information.

“Never mind that if you all expect my father to do things openly, you’re both sweet summer children and no one will be surprised to see you fail,” Lannister adds, after taking another long, hearty drink, and -

_What did he just say_?

Theon doesn’t smile openly and doesn’t tell him, _you just told me everything I needed to hear_ , just because that would undo all his efforts.

“I see,” he says. “Well, enjoy your wine, since you won’t enjoy a bed anytime soon. Kingslayer.”

Lannister scowls at him but without putting too much heart in it, and goes back to drinking.

_His father won’t ever do things openly,_ will he?

Well, surely corresponding with Roose Bolton to convince him to switch sides wouldn’t account for _doing things openly_.

He needs proof of that, but it’s too late for now. He will get it tomorrow, he supposes.

 

**Five**

 

“Robb, I - I think I need a favor,” Theon tells him before the council is about to begin.

“Of course,” Robb tells him, tying his sword to his waist more tightly. “Just, maybe after -”

“I - do you trust me?” He asks, trying to not pay attention to how just asking it makes him feel like someone threw a steel punch in his stomach.

“What kind of question is that? I do. Why?”

“I - I have reasons to believe something is amiss with Lord Bolton. I - I need your leave to _not_ be at the council and search his rooms.”

Robb’s face goes _utterly_ pale at that. “Theon, that’s - I _could_ grant you leave for the council, but if you’re found there - Lord Bolton has men, and he has lands, and he comes from one of the oldest Northern houses. If you believe that it’s truly worth it I - I can’t tell you to stop it, especially because I also thought there was something off about him lately, but do it _only_ if you truly believe it necessary. I can’t risk him leaving the army.”

“I - I think it is truly worth it,” Theon says, and then - “Never mind that if I’m wrong, it won’t matter.”

“Wait, _what_?”

Oh, _fuck_.

He should have kept his damned mouth shut.

“It’s - it’s a long story,” he says. “Just - it might be hard to believe.”

“What would be hard to believe?”

He laughs. “What if I told you that I already lived this day?”

“ _What_?”

Theon shrugs and tells Robb exactly how the council is going to go and what everyone else is going to say and maybe it says all (and nothing positive of him) that he _doesn’t_ tell Robb about the _first time_ he had to go through the damned loop, but the last thing he needs is Robb knowing _that_ right now, as ashamed of it as he feels. He can’t think about _that_ now. He just - he can’t.

“Theon, that’s - a lot to ask me to believe, you know that?” Robb sounds fairly skeptical, but what does Theon care? He won’t remember tomorrow, if this goes wrong, and if it goes right, he’ll have proof Theon wasn’t lying.

“I know. But - please, go to that council and see if I’m not wrong, and meanwhile, I swear I won’t get caught. All right?”

“I - all right. Fine. Do it. After all, you haven’t - you haven’t done anything that’s damaged our cause yet until now and if you _really_ aren’t lying, I guess tomorrow this conversation won’t have happened. But be careful, all right?”

Theon wants to breathe in relief, and he _does_ , and then he runs out of the hall while everyone else walks inside it, feigning being indisposed.

It’s probably his luck that he runs into Rylene as he goes to Bolton’s quarters - she’s apparently handling the laundry.

“My lord,” she tells him. “You - look unwell.”

“I - I don’t know,” he replies, “but - I think I need you to help me with something. Can you?”

“If I can, my lord,” she says. “I - this is a nice place, and the work is better than on my father’s boat. I do owe you.”

_You don’t_ , he wants to tell her, but he just nods and tells her to come along until they’re in front of the - thankfully empty - room and hallway.

“I need you,” he says, “to go up and down this hallway and if you see anyone coming, knock thrice on the door and then pretend to go ahead as if you were doing your job. Clear?”

“Clear,” she says. “But - what’s your business?”

“His Grace’s business,” he mutters, and opens the door - thankfully it’s unlocked.

The room is pristine clean and pristinely kept - not a thing out of place, he notices, and barely any effects of Lord Bolton’s that make clear that _he_ is sleeping in here. There are no books or papers on the desk and Theon immediately dismisses them. He doesn’t even consider going through the man’s clothes - no one would keep any proof of such an exchange in their clothes, especially if servants handle them for washing all the time. If it exists, it has to be somewhere people would not easily pay attention to.

_Where would anyone put such letters_ , Theon asks himself, and then his eyes fall upon the _one_ item in the corner of the room that could only belong to Lord Bolton.

It’s, of course, known to all of the North that the man travels bringing leeches with or finds some to keep in his lodgings in order to look after his own health. He doesn’t know if the ones in the stone tank in the corner were brought with or found at the Trident, but he knows that no one would dare handle the man’s leeches without permission now, _would they_?

He moves closer to the tank. It’s resting on the ground, and it looks _heavy_ , and it’s just near the fire place.

_Convenient_ , he thinks as he breathes in and lifts it up, moving it towards the window. He doubts that he’ll find anything, honestly, but at least he did try -

And then he almost drops the thing on the ground, and good thing he doesn’t or he might have let it fall on his feet. He places it down delicately, instead, and reaches down for the bundle of pressed, pristine white papers that were lying underneath, all tied with a black ribbon.

He turns them over.

The first one has a Lannister sigil in the upper right corner.

Theon reads it - it’s apparently the first, from the date is just after Ned Stark’s death - and Tywin Lannister’s neat handwriting is right there, putting into words a proposal according to which Bolton should turn his cloak and become Warden of the North with his son getting a legitimization, and _suddenly_ everything his clear and all of Ramsay’s _old_ actions make sense.

_What if I had waited for him instead of waking up months earlier?_ , Theon asks himself, and he feels like throwing up.

He shoves the letters into his cloak’s inner pocket, puts the leeches back in their places and runs out of the room.

“Are you done, my lord?” Rylene asks him.

“Very much so,” he says. “You can leave. And - thank you.”

“No need for that,” she tells him, smiling, and she disappears on the other side of the hallway.

Right.

_Right_.

He walks downstairs, and when he hears Robb saying that the council is over and they will talk again on the morrow, he walks inside the room.

If anything, he figures he gained the right to a somewhat dramatic entrance now, didn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I think His Grace should know _something_ , before we dismiss this council,” he adds, and produces the letters, handing them to Robb.

The moment he sees all blood drain from both Bolton and his son, he knows that understood what he had to.

——

“Theon?” Robb says, standing on his doorstep a long, long time later that evening.

“Robb,” he smiles, feeling so tired _he_ could sleep for the next month. “Do - do come in.”

“I just - those letters were - I can’t believe - well, no, I suppose I can. But - I was going to trust him with Harrenhaal, if we ever got it back. And what the soldiers said his bastard was planning to do about Lady Hornwood - gods, I can’t believe I considered _legitimizing_ him.”

“You have to work with the people you have at your disposal,” Theon tells him, “and - it did work out, didn’t it?”

“It did, but - the council also went the way _you_ said it would. Theon, _how long_ have you been looking into the Boltons?”

“This is only the fifth day,” Theon says. “You cannot know, I suppose, but never mind that. Yesterday I went to the dungeons to see if Lannister had anything to tell me on the topic, and he might have helped out without meaning to.”

“Really? What - what did he say? Or _didn’t_ he say, since yesterday you _didn’t_ go to see him, as far as I’m concerned. Gods, this is insane, but - how else would you have known?”

“He merely said his father wouldn’t be tried to get him back by doing it _openly_ , if you catch my meaning. And before then, I thought there was something off about the both of them, so I put two and two together.”

“It seems like I have to thank you all over again, don’t I?” Robb asks, sounding so relieved he could cry, and -

And Theon _could_ let him do it, he could let him believe that the loops were a sign the gods sent them and come out of this conversation with Robb’s never-ending trust, he could say a lot of things that would make him look way better than he _is_ , but he can still see Robb’s dead, bleeding face in front of him, and he remembers how it had felt to see most of the people he knew in Winterfell die because of him or by his own bloody hand, and he can’t help thinking, _I only knew because I betrayed you once_ , and what kind of person he is if he lets Robb believe the best of him when he should just believe the _worst_?

It comes as another revelation he wishes he wouldn’t have had.

_I’d be the kind of person I was when I took his castle out of pettiness and jealousy, that’s who I’d be_ , and he wants to think that after all of this he’s _not_ anymore, and -

Fuck it.

“No,” he says, “you don’t.” He reaches out, takes Robb’s hand in his figuring that if this goes awry at least he’ll have _that_ , and looks at Robb in the eyes. “Because - there’s something else you should know, and I can’t stand you looking at me like _that_ because you wouldn’t, if you did.”

“Theon -”

“Robb, this isn’t the first time it happens to me.”

“What? The - living the same day over and over again?”

“Yes. The first time, it was when I went to Pyke. But - that was - after I _didn’t_ come back. And I only guessed what they were up to because of the mistakes I made the first time around.”

Robb just glares at him. “Theon, _explain yourself_ , because that wasn’t clear.”

He breathes. “The first time around, I didn’t come back here when I found out what my father wanted to do. I stayed there and figured that I would convince him I was worthy of being his heir. It didn’t work out. I - he thought I was at your beck and call and so on. In _that_ time - which I suppose doesn’t exist anymore - I decided that if I went and took Winterfell maybe he would see where my alliances lay.”

“ _What_ -” Robb interrupts him

“Let me finish. _Then_ you can decide what to do with me. I took Winterfell. It went badly. Your brothers ran away and I couldn’t find them, and at that point, _Ramsay Bolton_ had shown up, because in that - in that world, you didn’t call him here and he went along with his plans for Lady Hornwood. Ser Rodrik went to find him to stop him from pillaging that poor land any further, but he swapped clothes with that Reek servant he has with him. Reek died, he came to Winterfell pretending to be him, and there he said he would serve me if I let him free, and - when I couldn’t find your brothers, he advised me to kill two commoners of their age so I wouldn’t lose face for it. I agreed. It was the worst decision I ever took. I couldn’t sleep at night, I felt guilty all the damned time, I couldn’t face the idea that I had hurt you so and so I convinced myself that I didn’t care, and then one day I - I had a nightmare where I was in Winterfell and I dreamed of some kind of feast where everyone present was dead, and then the doors opened and you walked in, and you were dying along with Grey Wind.”

The direwolf, who had come in with Robb, growls softly at his feet, but he’s still nowhere near _aggressive_ , while before he was about to rip Bolton’s head off, his and his bastard’s, so he supposes it counts for something. He _hopes_ it counts for something.

“I - it was bad. Everyone thought I had lost my wits. Luwin showed up with dreamwine. I took it, and I drank it, and before doing it I wished I could fix my mistakes. I woke up on the ship to Pyke.”

“You mean -” Robb’s voice sounds strangled at this point.

“I went back in time, yes,” Theon says. “And then - every day I would wake up on that ship, _always_. I tried to convince my father a number of times and it never worked out, I tried killing myself and it didn’t work out, and at some point I was so desperate I told the captain to go to Harlaw to see my mother instead and - she might’ve opened my eyes, I think.”

“On what?” Robb sounds still - not angry, which is honestly more than Theon was hoping for, even if his voice is low and barely audible. But as long as he’s not _angry_ , Theon can deal with that.

“On the fact that if my father didn’t care and wouldn’t accept my proposal, then maybe I should go back to someone who did, and I knew I was right when the moment I told the ship to turn back I stopped waking up on the same day all over again,” he laughs bitterly. “Of course coming back here was the right course of action, and so when I arrived I _knew_ , and when I saw Snow showing up here and I recognized him I knew _something_ was wrong, and - that’s how I figured it out. And - I know you can’t _know_ all of that and that it sounds insane, and I know you have all the reasons to not believe me, but I - I feel horrible for having done it, and I just wanted you to know that you have nothing to thank me for. if anything, I had more than something to atone for, so - I hope I did it, some. At most we got it even. But if you want me to leave -”

He never finishes that sentence because Robb’s hand has suddenly grasped his, tight. _Very_ tight.

For a long, _long_ moment, nothing happens, and he can only think, is he taking time to decide or it’s a last moment before he inevitably tells him to fuck off?

“I don’t,” he says, suddenly, and Theon has to look at him, and - is his vision blurry? _What in the Seven Hells_?

“You idiot, you’re _crying_ ,” Robb says, “and - I’ll admit it was hard to listen to that story, but - where are you _now_?”

“I’m here,” Theon replies, wiping at his eyes.

“Right. And where do you _want_ to be?”

“Here,” he shrugs, “But you have all reasons to -”

“Theon, I don’t know what you did in that _other_ time, but _here_ you have done nothing I can fault you for, you came back, you saved this war _twice_ , you betrayed your father for my cause and you found out that those two were in league with Lannister, and _that_ \- the rest never happened, so I would be quite an idiot if I decided to send you away on the basis of things that you _never_ did now, wouldn’t I?”

“But -”

“Gods, I can see that you’re sorry,” Robb says. “And - I don’t know how such a thing is possible, but if the gods gave you the chance to go back and _fix_ things until you learned whatever lesson you were supposed to, and you _did_ , then who am I to judge you? Never mind that you started crying when you were talking about dreaming of my death.” He’s smiling now, just a bit, and he’s moved closer, and -

“That was because I couldn’t bear it,” he blurts, figuring that he should just say everything by now.

“Well, you arse, why do you think I let you go in the first place? I couldn’t bear it if you had to be here as my fucking _hostage_ and not as my friend, so it seems to me like we both want the same thing, don’t we?”

“As in?”

“To be in the same place. Do we?”

“I think we do,” he replies, and has he ever sounded so - so _soft_ in his entire life? He thinks not.

“Then I don’t want you to be anywhere else than _here_ , and fuck whatever it is you did in some time when I wasn’t there,” Robb says, his hands going to Theon’s face, and maybe he should have expected Robb’s mouth to touch his softly but surely, except that he _hadn’t_ but now that it’s there Theon doesn’t want it to move, and so he reaches up with shaking hands and kisses Robb back, fingers tangling in his curls, and when he moves away, he has to say it.

“Well,” he blurts, “if I wake up _this morning_ all over again, I just want you to know that I wouldn’t care because I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am right now.”

“Duly noted. Please tell me everything again, if it’s the case,” Robb replies, and then he’s kissing Theon again and there’s nothing more to talk about.

 

**Six**

 

Theon opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is the sun rising over the Trident, though not at the same time as yesterday.

The second he sees is an arm thrown around his waist.

He turns on his back, finding himself in front of Robb’s sleeping face.

_Oh._

Oh, he realizes, taking in the dirty sheets and the fact that they’re naked and _everything else_ , he has a feeling that -

A moment later, Robb opens his eyes and smiles all over again and Theon thinks he could fucking drown in them - they’re bluer than the ocean around Pyke’s shores, honestly.

“Please tell me you remember yesterday,” Theon blurts.

“I do,” Robb smiles back. “And before we go to a council where Roose Bolton _won’t_ be present, I think I still need to thank you for yesterday’s service.”

Theon _could_ tell him that there’s no need, but that would go against his direct interests, wouldn’t it?

He smirks and tells Robb that he can’t wait to receive his just reward, and as Robb moves on top of him and kisses him again, and _again_ , he knows that he’ll never regret what happened, and that he’d go through a thousand more same-tomorrows if it means he got _this_ -

But admittedly, he’s _really_ , really glad that _this_ tomorrow was, in fact, another day, and the first of a life he’s entirely set on not throwing away. He’ll discuss his father later, he’ll plan for meeting his mother again and they’ll plan on how to win this war -

But for now, he thinks, he’ll enjoy his just reward.

He might not have deserved it, but he certainly isn’t the kind of person who’d refuse the one thing he’s always wanted, is he?

 

End.


End file.
